


Variations on a Theme

by Dewa



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, F/M, Gen, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewa/pseuds/Dewa
Summary: After receiving an intriguing letter from Sigismund Dijkstra, the last thing Triss expects is to be caught up in a tale that has spanned years, and for Count Dijkstra to ask her to perform a seemingly impossible task.





	Variations on a Theme

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU after the ending of the "Reasons of State" quest in The Witcher 3. Dijkstra does not betray Vernon Roche and Thaler, but keeps his commitment and offers his services as adviser to to help Ciri transition to Empress after her father.  
> Thank you very much for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a strange tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a short story that grew a little too big. Dijkstra is such an interesting character, and I always felt that he was a big softy on the inside and wanted to explore that a bit.

Triss Merigold arrived in the city of Vizima with a thunderous crack as the portal she conjured snapped out of existence. Never one to waste time, she headed as swiftly as her feet could carry her to the royal palace, where an old acquaintance had unexpectedly requested an audience with her.

Two weeks prior, while enjoying a glass of wine and a good book at her residence in Pont Vanis, a missive had arrived for her from Count Sigismund Dijkstra, newly appointed royal adviser to the Soon-To-Be Empress of Nilfgaard, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. It informed her of his upcoming visit to Vizima, and requested to meet with her there to discuss a matter of great importance. His request was unexpected, but intriguing. She hadn’t heard from Dijkstra in quite some time, since before the end of the Third Northern War, so of course she accepted, scrawling a hurried note to him and conjuring a swift-hawk to carry the letter as quickly as possible to his current location, wherever that may be. More likely than not, he would already be in a carriage bound for the Temerian capitol. _Gods what would I do without magic_ , she thought. _What did_ anyone _do without it_? Fortunately she would never need to know.

Dijkstra’s sudden turn from fervent dissident of Nilfgaard aggression to bending the knee to Emperor Emhyr Var Emreis had left Triss quite curious. After the assassination of King Radovid, orchestrated in part by Dijkstra, and the signing of the peace treaty, _also_ iterated and agreed upon by Dijkstra himself, much of the North had been swallowed up by the southern invader. Most of the countries remained autonomous--within reason--as vassal states, though leashed tightly by the Nilfgaardian Empire until tempers mellowed. Triss still couldn’t put a finger on what drove Dijkstra to fall in line so quietly. He’d worked for decades bringing Redania into a position of power in the North. His sudden turn couldn’t have been without an ulterior motive, a card yet to be played.

And the only trump left was the Empress-In-Waiting herself, who was warm, generous, sharp as a tack, and thankfully born without the craving for conquest that gripped her father. Perhaps in the future, the Northern Countries would have their independence returned by Ciri’s hand. It was within reason, and Dijkstra had subtly planted himself in a position to make sure it could happen. Triss wouldn’t be surprised, and she most definitely wouldn’t bet against him, if he’d set his mind on such a goal.

With the palace gates in view, Triss waved her letter of passage in front of the guards and was ushered inside. The urge to slow her pace and wander the castle and ruminate on bygone times--of a King she’d held so dearly--was strong, but she moved forward to the guest halls where she assumed Dijkstra had made his temporary lodging. Sure enough, behind one of the closed doors, she could see the faint glow of a hearth flickering under the door frame. No guards were present outside the portal, signaling that the former spy was already expecting her, and wanted their meeting to be held as privately as possible. Giving herself a quick once over and dusting off her traveling cloak, she steeled herself and wrapped gently on the door.

“Come in,” a familiar voice called out.

She opened the door and smiled warmly, unexpectedly pleased to see her old acquaintance.

Dijkstra sat in a high wingback chair next to a crackling fire. He looked much the same as he did the last time she’d seen him, head and face still clean shaven, with droopy eyes and a jutting chin. He’d grown a bit larger, though, if that were possible, but he _was_ getting older, and no longer locked in a power struggle between crime lords that required him to look at least a little physically imposing.

“Count Dijkstra, it’s been a long time.”

“Indeed, Miss Merigold,” Dijkstra said as he stood in greeting, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, sit.” He gestured towards the chair adjacent to his own.

She sat primly next to him and he dropped his heavy body back into his seat.

“How could I not come? Your letter seemed quite insistent. I must say I’m curious as to what want from me. Now that you’re back in the good graces of a King--an Emperor--what could you possibly need that you couldn’t get in Nilfgaard?”

Dijkstra fixed her with hard stare. “Discretion.” A puzzled frown formed on the sorceress’ face. “You know as well as I that any court is full of rats. I’d rather discuss personal matters far away from curious ears,” he muttered bitterly.

“And I’m so different?” she mused with a cheeky smile, “Surely you haven’t forgotten, I’m a member of King Tankred’s court now.”

“You owe me a favor,” he replied, “I scratched your back in Novigrad, now I need you to scratch mine. I hope you’re not in the mood to negotiate, for I most certainly am not.”

“Dijkstra,” Triss sighed out, “You don’t need to speak so--so--businesslike. I’m your friend, and I’ll be forever grateful for what you did for the mages back in Novigrad. Whatever you need, just ask.”

Dijkstra’s brow knotted in contemplation as he stared into her eyes. He swallowed thickly and sunk back into his chair in resignation and gestured to a small table between them. Atop it was a single item, a small, black, stone puzzle box, adorned with a single green gem on its top. Various runes of an unknown nature were carved into each side. Merrigold’s eyebrows rose, her curiosity piqued. She hadn’t felt it before, it had been so faint, but now that she’d turned her attention to it, she could sense a hint of magic about the item. She looked up at Dijkstra questioningly, itching to get a better look. Dijkstra nodded his approval, and she snatched the box up and turned it in her hands. It didn’t take long for her fingers to find a deep crack on one of the surfaces.

“What on earth is it?” she asked in wonder. “I can sense magic on it, but what’s its source?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Dijkstra muttered, resting his chin in his hand. “I came upon it in Zerrikania years ago, during my exile. I’ve kept it ever since. A keepsake.”

“Zerrikania? I’ve never seen craftsmanship like this from Zerrikania.”

“I doubt that’s its origin.”

Merrigold tore her eyes away from the box. “And you want me to do what exactly?”

“Study it. Fix it.” He was staring off into the fire now. “It worked only once before it cracked. There must be a way to restore it.” Triss heard a flicker of anguish in the back of his throat.

“What did it do? I can’t study it if I don’t have all the details.”

The large man let out deep sigh. “It’s a teleporter of some kind, as far as I can tell. But it’s not linked to the Continent. It goes somewhere else. Pulls things through from somewhere else. Not so dissimilar to our Empress-in-Waiting’s peculiar abilities.”

Triss’s eyes twinkled as she gazed at the box. If what Dijkstra claimed was true, then this was the find of a century, an artifact from the conjunction of the spheres-perhaps even older.

“Tell me what happened. Every detail. From when you first used it.”

“This does not leave this room.” His voice was so icy that Triss was surprised the fire didn’t blow out.

“You have my word.”

Dijkstra turned to her, pulling his gaze away from the fire with some effort. The look in his eyes made her heart ache. There was no question that whatever he asked, she would help him.

“It’s a long story. I’ll pour us a drink.”

~~~~

Zerrikania was fucking hot. Hotter than the devil’s knickers, and Dijkstra had loathed every minute since he arrived there. A man his size wasn’t meant to live in such oppressive heat. He was certain he’d oozed his body weight in sweat every day since leaving the Elskerdeg Pass and entering the desert.

The hood of his cloak offered little protection from the sun beating down on him. Beads of perspiration dripped from his brow down his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. He mopped them with a kerchief for what seemed the hundredth time that afternoon. Behind him, his companions, Isengrim Faoiltiarna and Boreas Mun, appeared equally miserable. Dijkstra had met them by chance during his flight from Redania, and found that they too were outlaws fleeing their own demons. They were enjoyable traveling partners and Dijkstra had grown a fondness for both, but the repetitive, blazing hot days of travel boiled away any congeniality they had cultivated towards each other. Tempers were short, and conversation ground to a halt as each man drowned in silence and their own sweat.

“Trade you a canteen for a dry kerchief,” Dijkstra called back, wagging his sopping wet cloth in the air.

The elf, Isengrim, grumbled atop his camel, but pulled out a fresh rag from his pouch, crumpled it into a ball and threw it forward. Dijkstra caught it before it fluttered out of reach and tossed an extra canteen of water back.

“Thank you, sir,” He said jovially, and turned back around in his saddle with a bit of effort. Riding camelback wasn’t as comfortable as he would like. The make of the saddle rubbed him raw in places he’d rather not mention. But he did find some pleasure in sitting atop a steed he didn’t dwarf in size, and the beast was well mannered and enjoyed a good pat. Unfortunately it couldn’t offer him anything in the way of conversation, no matter how hard Dijkstra tried. It’s clefted maw remained stubbornly mute, aside from the occasional smack of its lips as it chewed its cud, content with ambling across the sandy dunes in long, lazy strides. Dijkstra however, was growing restless from the monotony.

He tried to content himself with gazing out into the horizon, but like yesterday and the day before, there was nothing to look at. The only thing Dijkstra could see for miles around was sand, and the view was beginning to wear on him. The only thing of interest was the guide in front of him, paid to get them to the nearest trade town. Bored, Dijkstra gave his camel a light tap of encouragement to increase its pace, and trotted to the side of their navigator.

“Brutus, how long is it until we reach Vakar again?”

“We’ve set a good pace. Should reach it by sundown,” the guide grumbled. He’d been a man of few words since starting the voyage, and thus gave Dijkstra little amusement.

“Excellent.”

The gruff man at his side offered no more conversation, and Dijkstra resigned himself to watching the dust blow by his camel’s feet. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. His swift departure from Redania, and the weeks of perilous travel after, left no time to look back on all he had lost. Now, in the mind-numbing solitude of the desert, an ugly, introspective finger scratched at his misery like an old sore, urging him to look down at the pieces of his shattered life and agonize over them, for they were too small to ever put back together. He had spent the better part of three decades rising through the political ranks of Redania from nothing--a common peasant. And the sorceress Phillipa, his most beloved companion, had destroyed his lifelong endeavors in a single night and sent him fleeing across The Continent. He knew he could pick himself back up, he had more intelligence and willpower than every adviser in Redania’s court combined, but it would never be the same. And Philippa--he had loved her. _So much_.

Dijkstra shook his head and pushed his dark thoughts back into the box he’d crafted for them. Best not to think on such matters. There would be a more appropriate time to open it and reminisce on those precious, broken things. Better now to look ahead, even if it was just a dusty wasteland.

~~~

As promised, they arrived at Vakar as the sun dropped low on the horizon. The bustling trade city was situated next to a desert oasis, an ideal place for merchants from across the country to stop, rest and resupply. The sudden change from lonely desert to busy market invigorated Dijkstra, and he watched with interest as they passed trade caravans, shops, and restaurants, all the makings of civilized society that he’d sorely missed. Throngs of people dressed in flowing, brightly colored clothes wove in between their camels like a school of fish against a current. The dwindling light hadn’t discouraged the cawing of street merchants or the buzz of customers. City guardsmen pushed their way through the crowd to light the oil lamps lining the street, pushing against the wave of humanity.   

The crowd thinned as the foursome passed the market square and Brutus led them to an inn he promised wasn’t infested with rats. When they arrived, he left them, his contract fulfilled, and the three men wasted no time buying rooms and settling down for the night. The inn was a three story, sandy stone structure baked and cracked by the sun, but the inside was well furnished, clean, and the innkeep kindly. He led the group to their quarters then took his leave with little fanfare, which Dijkstra appreciated. His room was spartan, furnished with only a cabinet, a table and chairs, and a bed much too small for his frame. It was enough. He would find better accommodations once he had his feet under him. All he wanted to do now was get out of his sweat-soaked clothes, long since cooled and sticky.

The grime and sweat from his days long travel across the desert covered his body in a thick plaque, and Dijkstra ordered a much-needed bath and soaked for over an hour. It wasn’t the most comfortable bath in his life, there hadn’t been a tub large enough for a man his size, and his legs and arms spilled over the sides of the basin, like a turtle splayed out on its back. His ankle, twisted and poorly mended from an old injury, ached from the trip, and he longed to relieve the dull throb in the warm water, but the logistics proved impossible. He would ask for a pot of hot water and soak it later in the night, he determined.

After his bath, he returned to his rooms, dipping his head to avoid bumping it on the top of the door frame. The sound of city life outside was welcome after days of isolation, and upon hearing it, Dijkstra’s weariness disappeared, replaced with an eagerness to see what nightlife the city had to offer. Putting on a fresh set of clothes, he ventured out to find a local tavern. His purse was still full and he wouldn’t be short of coin for quite some time. He could afford to have enjoy himself for a time.

The heat of the day was tempered by nightfall, and there was a pleasant chill upon the air. Dijkstra breathed in and let the cool air refresh his lungs as he walked the streets. There was a tavern not too far from the inn with a welcoming light shining through its open doors. He entered and ordered a round of the local ale. It tasted like camel piss, but he drank it anyway and ordered another, along with the evening special: a plate of eggs, yolk still runny, poached in an aromatic tomato sauce. It was a satisfying change from days of nothing but dried fruit and overly salted meat. He ate greedily, sopping up the soupy mixture with a piece of flatbread.

Around him, the tavern bustled with activity. Dijkstra sat back contentedly to watch the merchants and locals from across the city settle down to enjoy drinks and entertainment. They were a mixture of every kind of humanity, though mostly Zerrikanian. Chatting amongst the taverns patrons were a handful of Cintrans and even a few distinguished Nilfgaardian brows. A traveling band played a tinny, complex tune in a uniquely Zerrikanian scale that thrummed pleasantly in his ears. It struck him that he could get used to this place, even grow fond of it with time.  

Nestled in a corner across the room, a group of locals played cards. The luckiest of them laid out his hand and the group groaned, pounding the table. One threw his cards down and quit the game, leaving a vacant seat that Dijkstra eyed with interest. A hefty sum was in play on the betting table, and Dijkstra felt his fingers itch. He’d always had a fondness for games of chance. No harm in having a little fun. Dijkstra smiled and got up to join them as the unlucky gambler hurried off. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind a foreigner joining in.

“Mind if I play a few rounds?”

The group quieted as he sat down with them, one stared agape at his imposing stature, but he paid it no mind--he was used to it.

“Big man,” one of the men stated. “You got big coin on you as well?”

“Redanian crowns,” He replied with an affable smile.

The men muttered amongst themselves. Redanian crowns were a robust currency even in Zerrikania.

“Fine.”

Unfortunately for the merchants, Dijkstra was a masterful card player. Card games by nature, were like politics, just more honest, and he’d played at politics his entire life. He started slowly, lulling his opponents into a false sense of security, laughed at their jokes, offered a few himself, lost a few hands, then began the game in earnest. A drunken crowd had gathered around the table to watch the fleecing with glee. Two of the men quit the table after losing a hefty sum, but one stayed behind, though there was nothing left for him to bet.

“Well, thanks for the coin and the fun, but I’ll be off.” Dijkstra chortled, and began scraping his winnings into a satchel at his side. His weariness had returned and the bed in his room seemed to call to him from across the city.

“Wait,” the unfortunate man groaned out, “that was my entire shipping fare. I need that money.”

“As do I.” Dijkstra replied darkly “Unless you want to put something more interesting on the table, try your luck once more.”

The merchant pinched his lips in frustration at Dijkstra’s stinginess, but after a moment of contemplation, he reached into a satchel at his side.

“Here,” he said, dropping a strange black box on the table, “One more round.”

Dijkstra frowned and reached across the table to pick up the odd relic. It was heavier than expected, and cool to the touch. Turning it in his hands, he noted the odd runes etched into each side. It could be priceless. It could be worthless. He couldn’t tell, but the shining green gem fitted at its top could be pried out and sold if necessary. He asked the merchant what it was, but even its owner wasn’t sure. He had found it in the desert by chance and thought it valuable enough to keep. Feeling a bit sorry for the man, Dijkstra placed the box back on the table and nodded to him in acceptance.

Ten minutes later, Dijkstra was back at the inn, a king’s ransom in his pack, and a curious box in his hand. He fiddled with it as he sat at the foot of his bed. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t put it down. There were no latches, nor a hinge to open it. Perhaps it was a puzzle box, an ornate children’s toy of some kind. He ran his fingers along the the intricate engravings on its surface and felt a pleasant buzz emanate from it. Through his examination, he discovered the box was actually three sections, almost unnoticeable due to the excellent craftsmanship. He maneuvered his fingers around the ridges, looking for a raised surface, or a button of some kind. After a few minutes, he heard a satisfying click from inside the box and the two outermost sections were freed to move around the middle. Experimentally, he turned one side 180 degrees until it snapped into place and refused to move further. He proceeded to do the same with the other. When the second section snapped into place, the tingling in his hands increased in intensity, and the jewel at the box’s emitted a brief flash of light, before he heard an audible crack.

Dijkstra didn’t have time to process the box’s machinations, as suddenly, there was a warm weight in his lap. Startled, the box tumbled from his fingers to the floor and he looked down to see a young woman, clad in the strangest garb he’d ever seen, perched delicately atop his knees.

“Sigi! I was studying for exams!” She exclaimed. “Why do you seem to do this at the worst possible times.” She popped him lightly on the chest, then hopped off his lap.

Dijkstra sat in stunned silence. A leaden ball of horror welled up and settled in pit of his stomach. Had his enemies found him so quickly? Sent a mage to tidy up the last of Philippa’s loose ends? He scanned the room for some trace of teleportation magic, keeping one wary eye on the woman, but there was nothing--not even a lingering wisp of conjury.

“Where are we?” the girl mused, before bounding over to an open window and peering outside. “Oh! Zerrikania! I haven’t been to Zerrikania in so long.”

Dijkstra worked his mouth up and down but no sound came out. Who was this woman if not an assassin sent to finish him? He had been holding the box, now skittered out of view--out of reach. Had she come _from_ the box? Was this some elaborate artefact compression? No, that couldn’t be, she knew his name.

“Hey, what’s-” She turned to him with a puzzled expression. His confusion must have been written across his face, as her spirited mood withered. “What’s wrong? What happened?” She raced back to his side and grabbed his hand, stroking it reassuringly, but it did nothing to reduce the panicked palpitations in his chest. The cool touch of her fingers shocked his senses back to life and he snatched her wrists in his hand. She let out a startled “Oh,” before he flipped her onto the bed, body pinned into the mattress by his weight. She was small and easily overpowered. If she were a sorceress there was little she could do now with his hands wrapped tightly around hers to bar any incantations.

“Who are you?” He bellowed out. “An assassin from the lodge? Sent to finish what Philippa couldn’t?”

The young woman’s eyes went wide. “Sigi, what the fuck? Get off me!” She struggled against him weakly, but he wouldn’t budge.

“If you don’t care to talk then I’ll kill you and be done with it.” It was a bluff--for now. His mind was already calculating his options. He couldn’t very well slit the woman’s throat in a city he’d just arrived in. No proof of forced entry. No witnesses. And he, a foreigner. He would hang if he didn’t make a quick escape. But to where? The guide was gone to God knows where, and he didn’t have a chance in hell of surviving outside the city. Zerrikania was foreign and strange, and he knew his way around it like a whore at court--not at all.

The woman underneath him coughed and sputtered as his forearm dug into the soft flesh of her throat. Tears pricked the edge of her eyes. If he didn’t let up on the pressure she would soon black out. Dijkstra felt a twinge of satisfaction at her suffering. _Serves her right_.

A desperate, guttural choke forced its way out of her mouth. “Box--the box.”

Dijkstra’s eyebrows rose. _The box_? He’d forgotten it. Intrigued, he eased some his weight off the woman’s neck. She gasped and coughed as air filled her lungs again.

“You had a box,” she wheezed, “I came because of the box. Look for yourself. It’s cracked.”

He turned his head and scanned the floor but it wasn’t in sight. It must have rolled under the bed. With a frustrated growl, he dropped down to search underneath the bed frame, taking the girl with him, his hand still shackling her own like an iron glove. She tumbled from the bed head first and landed awkwardly with a pained grunt, but he paid her no mind. The box had landed about a foot under the bed. He reached out and grabbed it. Sure enough, along its side, a deep, jagged fissure marred the surface of the engravings.

“See!” The woman said. “It's busted.”

He examined the stone relic in his hand. Its lacquer had dulled and the strange coolness emanating from its surface was gone. It seemed...dead. “You came from the box?”

“Not exactly. The box brought me here. I don’t know how, but that’s what it does...did.” She had stopped struggling, resigned to being drug about at his whim. His hand still pinned her own to the floor, barring her from even sitting up. “I promise, I’m not here to hurt you. I couldn’t even if i tried. Let me try to explain.”

Dijkstra contemplated her request. She looked harmless for a creature that appeared out of thin air, small in stature and dressed in loose clothing from a land he was unfamiliar with. Though pleasing to look at, she didn’t possess the otherworldly beauty all sorceresses seemed to possess. Her disheveled appearance didn’t scream mission of murder and intrigue, just ready for bed, with sandy blonde hair tied up in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and no makeup or jewelry upon her body. Most importantly there was no weapon on her person, at least that he could see. Her accent was slightly nasal and rhotic; the cadence of her speech sounded strange to his ears and he couldn’t place the region it originated from.

He rose up from the floor, ignoring the pain in his knees from having to lift up his bulk, reminding him that he was growing older. The woman was yanked up along with him and shoved back roughly to sit on the bed. Dijkstra gave her a long, hard stare, before, very slowly, releasing her hands. She didn’t run or cast any incantation, just sat anxiously on the mattress, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say or do.

Feeling confident that she wasn’t going to try anything, he turned and grabbed a chair, pulled it in front of her and sat down. With fingers steepled under his chin, he fixed her with a glare he was sure would deter any notion of her making it out of this room if caught in a lie.

“Talk.”

She was taken aback at first, surprised that he had changed his tune so quickly, but then began to speak slowly, measuring her words as they came out. “My name is Lilly Johnson, and I come from a--from somewhere else. You opened a box, right?”

She paused in expectation of an answer.

“We’ve fucking established that,” He ground out.

His gruff answer shook her but she continued on. “The box is like a portal, I’m not sure what kind exactly, but it pulled me to you. We’re linked together now--”

“Bollocks.”

“You wanted me to talk,” she retorted. Dijkstra noted the distinct lack of fear in her voice.

“I wanted you to _not lie_ to me. How do you know me?”

“Like i said, the box is a portal. This is your first time meeting me, but I’ve met you many times before. Just not this early.”

“How?”

“Well, the theory is that the box broke when you used it, and the portal couldn’t completely pull me through. Maybe it never closed. I don’t know. But a piece of the portal is in me, and a piece of it is in you. But you hold the controls. From now on, you can call me whenever you want to. I don’t know how you do it. You don’t know how to do it yet, either, but you figure it out--trust me,” she breathed out exasperatedly, “The problem is the timing is all off...my timing.”

Dijkstra was taken aback. This woman was delusional, and she spoke with such confidence in her story. But she _had_ come from nowhere.

“Prove it.” He muttered.

She sighed. “You are Sigismund Dijkstra, spymaster of Redania, but you’re going by Sigi Reuven now. You’re on the run since Philippa Eilhart sent assassins after you. Your left ankle is busted because a witcher broke it on the Isle of Thaneed? Thunaed? Thaenud? Whatever. There were sorceresses there, doing sorcery things, that’s the important part.”

Dijkstra grunted out a harsh laugh. He was sure now she was playing him for fool. “What a load of tripe.” How could he have even considered entertaining this madwoman’s story. He’d almost fallen for it. Almost. “Most of what you said is common knowledge, and the rest  could be provided by Philippa herself. None of that is a revelation.”

“Some things never change, you cynical prick,” she huffed, “Fine. Your favorite fruit is apples but you hate them in pies. Your first love was Halina Nowak, a student at Oxenfurt Academy. She left you for some boy in the Literature department,” Dijkstra’s eyes grew wide as she continued. “When you were a boy, you wanted to be a mummer, but never got a speaking role and gave up on it. And you have a little mole just under your left armpit that you hate because it rubs up against your shirt and itches.” A mischievous grin spread across her lips at the last proclamation, knowing she had him stumped.

His mind raced. He’d never told anyone about Halina, not even Philippa. “How?” He stammered again, but she just shrugged.

“You talk a lot. Maybe because you know it’s impossible for me to tell anybody.”

Dijkstra sat back, dumbfounded.

“Tell me again. Everything.”

~~~

The next few hours were spent with her telling and retelling her version of events. Dijkstra kept waiting for her to slip up, to make an error in her tale, contradict her first, second, or third account, but there was nothing. To her credit, she didn’t grow frustrated with the intensity of his interrogation, but seemed to expect it. If she had been coached, then her deception was flawless. He couldn’t have asked for a better show from his own men.

Eventually, he gave in and halted his inquiries, getting up from the bed and pouring a glass of water from a pitcher left by the innkeep. Then, thinking better, poured another, and brought her a glass as well. She accepted it without hesitation and took a long drink, throat parched from so much one sided conversation. The bed frame creaked in protest as he sat down next to her, hunching over with his elbows resting on his thighs. Her silence was welcome as he stared out in front of him, taking the time to process her story.

If what she said was true, then the box had opened a rift between her world and his, and he had unknowingly plucked her out of the ether. The theory of the conjunction of the spheres was widespread and generally accepted within intellectual circles. The elves had long claimed that humans had hopped to this world like castaways from one ship to another, so it wasn’t outside of reason that there were other worlds with humans on them, as well as the possibility of travel between them. It was a supposition he could accept. Rumors had long swirled about of a young, flaxen-haired girl who could do just that, but they hadn’t been confirmed.

What he could not yet accept, was that the box had somehow linked her to him. She claimed that her time in this world was finite, and after a while, she would pop out of it and return to hers, but would still be tangentially tethered to him by a string that spanned dimensions. According to her, he was able to pull upon that string and drag her back, seemingly at will. The problem, she pointed out, was that the passage of time between their two worlds was muddled, and she arrived to him at vastly different times in her life. Tomorrow she could be pulled by a Dijkstra years in the future. She was just the beacon, and without extreme concentration from his end, whatever power he used to snatch her away rarely took her timeline into consideration.

She had suggested waiting it out and watch her disappear from his presence like a puff of smoke as proof, but that would be hours from now, and his body was protesting his wakefulness. He cocked his head to the side and looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was looking down at the empty glass in her hand, one finger circling the top, spreading the moisture around the glass’ lip. How could she be so calm? If her story wasn't an elaborate lie then her life should be in tatters. An ache welled up in his chest as he was reminded of his own predicament. Why had this happened now, of all times? He was so tired. Tired of running, exhausted from planning so far ahead to secure his own miserable future. He didn’t want to see her flit away and confirm her tale. It frightened him to even consider it was true.

He pursed his lips and spoke out, cutting through the silence. “Perhaps I never call on you again? Now that you’ve told me this-if it’s true-it sounds like more trouble than it’s worth.”

She shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter. If I’ve learned anything it’s that whatever happened will always happen and whatever will happen will. No changing it. You’ll call me again. Don’t know why, but you will.”

Her answer made some sense. If he called on her in the future like she said, then she should have the memories she spoke to him about. If he refused to use whatever power he had now, and held to it, she should have no recollection. Or would she? Would this version of her in front of him even exist? His brain hurt thinking about it.

Something else chewed at the back of his mind.

“What exactly am I to you?” His question hung poignantly in the air.

Out of all the questions he had asked her, this one seemed to tax her the most. She stopped and started a few times before answering. “You’re my-” she paused again, apparently unsatisfied with what she was about to label him. “My friend,” she ended lamely.

Dijkstra couldn’t help the dismissive snort that escaped him. The idea was preposterous. He was a man grown and experienced in the world. And this girl looked to have barely entered her twenties. What could they possibly have in common.

“I find that hard to believe. Would a friend upend your life here and there whenever they please? Preposterous.”

He turned to throw another snide remark her way but stopped. She was looking up at him with honey-colored eyes full of something akin to adoration, a look he’d rarely seen grace the eyes of a woman who beheld him, and it took him aback. She rose up and placed a soft, lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth, before dropping back down on the bed, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. You don’t even know me yet.”

Oh... _Oh._ That was no _friendly_ gesture. His hand traveled to the spot where her lips grazed him. He didn’t know why, but the shy sweetness of her touch affected him deeply.

“I’m not used to being the one who knows more. Everything is backwards.”

Perhaps it was the stress of the journey, the oppressive heat of the desert, or the still seeping wound that Philippa had left in his chest, but the small comfort he’d gleaned from her lips opened a hole in his defenses. He craved the warmth of a human touch, a release for all his anger and frustrations at the situation he found himself in so late in life.

He needed to feel the relief of her touch again, and raised his hand to her cheek. He was mesmerized has her head tilted up for him obediently. Bending down, he placed his lips on hers. The part of his brain that still valued logic and reason screeched at him to stop, but he shoved it in a corner and stomped on it for good measure, for the feel of her lips on his was a revelation, like falling into a feather bed after a long day of work. He knew instantly why-if she spoke true-he would on call her in the future. As the kiss deepened, the vibrations from her purring lips settled in the gaping hole in his chest, and when she opened her mouth for him to delve further, he knew he was lost. She kissed him like they had kissed a hundred times before, knowing each of his moves as he made them, and responding with the most perfect strokes of her own.

He pushed her back into the mattress, hands twisted in her long golden hair, and her legs wrapped deliciously around him. She had already divested him of his belt and was fumbling with the buttons of his doublet, opening it, and splaying her hands across his chest. He broke away from her then, trying to gather himself, but she rose up on her elbows and nibbled under his chin. Her tongue found a spot that turned his insides to jelly, and the groan it tore out of him could be mistaken for agony. He could feel her airy laughter puff out across his jaw.

“You know this means nothing,” he groaned out, trying to take back any inch of control he could from the situation. “I don’t know you, I don’t have any feelings for you.”

She pulled back and dropped down onto the pillow beneath her, a bemused expression across her face. “I know. But I know you. You’re my Sigi. If you need to use me today, then use me. It won’t matter for me tomorrow.”

Her words were unnerving, bordering on grotesque. The nourishment he’d stolen from her kiss spoiled on his tongue. But he couldn’t stop now, and couldn’t deny the feeling that she was meant for him somehow. She didn’t give him time to contemplate further, as her hands moved to untie his breeches.

“Do you want this?” she asked in a suddenly serious tone, “I’ll stop if you want.”

What a ridiculous question. He pushed her hands aside and undid his breeches himself and kicked them off, eyes never leaving hers. She didn’t balk at the challenge, just laughed and pulled him down.

Thankfully he had no difficulty getting her own clothes off. Her pants had a strange, elastic waste that stretched and pulled off of her with no effort at all. Her shirt flew just as easily over her head, and he determined to examine them further after having his fill of the body they had contained, which he now gazed upon with greedy eyes.

She was flawless. No blemishes, no scars, not even a dark line from the sun, just peach-toned perfection. She smelled of Redanian flowers in spring bloom and the scent wafted up to him and spread across his face. For a moment, the foreign atmosphere of the room melted away, and he took comfort in the ephemeral familiarity resonating from the body underneath him that he had never seen or touched.

His hand traveled down and found her more than ready for him, and she opened herself, taking his fingers into her without hesitation. He curled them inside her, and watched her arch her back and squeeze her eyes shut in pleasure. If it was a performance, It was one any whore in Novigrad would envy.

“Don’t tease,” she breathed out, and he eagerly obliged her, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist again before sinking into her. It felt so right that he was caught off guard and had to stifle an embarrassing moan, but she encouraged him with a wanton roll of her hips. He wasted no time moving within her, and she circled her hips again, giving him everything and asking for nothing. He knew he was being inattentive and gluttonous with his own pleasure, but he needed this. After so many days of stress and anger and regret, it all came to a head at this moment and was pouring out of him like rot from a wound.

She keened underneath him, and it spurred him on until he felt his vision blur. The swiftness of his approaching climax caught him off guard and he came with a shout. Bliss washed over him as he hovered outside of himself for a few moments. When he came back to reality, he was collapsed on top of her, but she didn’t seem to mind his ample weight. Her hands stroked the back of his head soothingly, sending pleasant shivers across his exhausted body.

After a moment he rolled away and stared, dazed, at the ceiling, baffled by what he’d just done. He could feel her eyes on him, and if he had the courage looked into them, he expected they would appear unfulfilled. If she had been Philippa, he would have already apologized for his boorish performance.

 _Philippa_.

He felt bile rise in his throat and his body grew stiflingly hot, preparing to purge itself of every drop in his stomach. He rolled away from the stranger in his bed and tried to suck in as much air as he could to stifle the urge to vomit. There was a reassuring hand at his back but he shrugged it away.

“Sigi,” she whispered softly, but the sound of her voice drew out an anger he didn’t know had festered inside him.

“Out. Get out.” He couldn’t bring himself to turn and look at her.

“What? Where will I go?”

“I don’t care,” he replied. “Leave, and take your preposterous stories and delusions with you. I need them about as much as a pain in my ass!”

“Wait, let’s talk for a minute-” But Dijkstra had already moved around the bed and grabbed her discarded clothing off the floor. He thrust them into her arms and yanked her across the room like a scruffed puppy. Once at the door, he shoved her into the hallway, stark naked, and slammed the door shut before she could object further.

He rested his forehead against the door and listened for any signs of protestation. There were none. Dijkstra breathed in deeply through his nose and felt the nausea return. Rushing across the room, he barely made it to his chamber pot before retching violently.

~~~

Far away, in another time and place, Dijkstra relaxed in his bath under Novigrad and let his mind wander. Like he so often did, he found himself longing for Lily’s company. It had been a few days since he’d seen her, and it wouldn’t hurt to be a little selfish and tug her away from her life. She was always happy to see him anyway. It had become so easy for him to draw inward and feel for that small spot inside his mind and pull, like a chain attached to a bell. It only took moment for him to feel the familiar weight drop into his lap, displacing the steaming water around him.

Shit, he forgot about the water. Again. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Lily’s furious brown ones glaring at him for soaking her clothes. Instead, her face was a mask of shock and grief peering up at him, moon-eyed, before being buried in his chest. Sobs he wasn’t prepared to hear wracked her small frame and he wrapped his arms around her immediately, shushing her like a child.

“It’s alright. What’s happened?”

“I forced myself on you,” she sobbed out, “I used you and you never told me.”

Dijkstra furrowed his brow in confusion. He cycled through his time with her and tried to ascertain exactly what she was talking about.

“The first time you met me. In Zerrikania at the inn. You were so angry...and I made you-,” she hiccuped into his chest.

Dijkstra examined her quickly. He’d cataloged every form of every phase of Lily that he’d had the pleasure of seeing, and by now could tell at a glance when she’d come from. Her hair was long and her natural color and she hadn’t gotten that garish tattoo on her back yet. Her appearance was just right for his first time meeting her. He could never forget what a complete ass he had been.

“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry, that was so long ago.”

She pulled away from him, her face red and puffy. “For you! I just got home, but you pulled me right back here.”

The picture was becoming clearer. He’d meant to pull her in a few years later in her life. He’d gotten rather good at bringing her to him more sequentially, with a day or two rest in between. But he wasn’t perfect, and instead of the Lily he’d imagined, a younger, more emotional version sat weeping in his lap with no time in between trips across worlds, still raw from the whiplash of being shoved back and forth.

He pulled her back to him and tried to remember who the Dijkstra from so long ago would have been. A bit younger, more cynical, definitely fatter, and still blistering from betrayal. Not to mention unforgivably cruel in his ignorance. He hadn’t seen the aftermath of throwing her out the door until now, years later.

“You did everything right, my girl,” he murmured into hair. “I’m here with you. Everything happened how it was going to happen.” He could feel her calming down in his arms. “And an older, more experience you comes around and slaps me straight, if I recall.”

“Oh I do, do I?”

“Mhm. Now let's get you out of these wet clothes and in a warm bed.”

“No, I want to stay here,” she said and wiped her face. She pulled her t-shirt--as he learned it was called--over her head and maneuvered her way out of her sopping wet sweatpants. They slapped wetly onto the stone of the bathhouse behind him and his lips quirked up in amusement at her sudden change in mood.

“Ah, man,” she lamented, laying back into him. “I’m going to be too tired to study when I get back. I’m going to fail my semester finals tomorrow. ”

“No you won’t,” he chuckled, encircling her from behind, “No you don’t. You pass marvelously.”

“What happened to not talking about the future?”

“You deserve a little comfort after having to deal with me.”

~~~

By the end of his tale, Triss’ eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She had so many questions, but by the look in Count Dijkstra’s eyes she knew he was done reminiscing for her.

“So to recap, this box gave you the power to move someone from another realm through time and space.”

“If you want to put it so fucking simply then yes. It did.” the older man grumbled. “I’ve researched it for years. Never found anything like it. But from what I can surmise, it failed to work properly that first night. It should have brought her through permanently, but instead it backfired on itself, and to resolve the gateway it affixed a portion of its power somewhere within me.”

Triss was surprise. That was a very astute observation from a non-magical human. But then again, he was Dijkstra, easily the most intelligent man she’d ever met.

“And if I find a way to fix it?” she queried, wondering what the ultimate goal in all this was.

Dijkstra sighed heavily once again, already uncomfortable with bearing as much of himself as he had to her tonight.

“I’ve spent the last half year positioning myself in a place of security and comfort. Cirilla will be an excellent Empress, I have no doubt. And there should be a lasting peace on The Continent. Now is the best time for me to resolve this dilemma, and bring Lily here permanently if it is within my power.”

Triss couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All of the deals, the political power plays and maneuvering was, at least in part, to make a stable life for himself. Dijkstra, the snarky, two-faced, pompous ass-of-a-man, was asking her to bring the apparent love of his life through a magical portal from another world.

She had always had a soft spot for love stories and she had long suspected that Dijkstra did too under his gruff, sarcastic demeanor. She supposed she knew the reason why now. Oh what Dandelion would do to get his hands on a story like this! There was just one problem.

“Dijkstra, is this what she wants?”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants.” Triss recoiled, but he rose his hand to calm her. “She is linked to me. Over time I’ve become adept at bringing her to me from when I want. I’ve tried over the years to pull her in past a specified point in her life and cannot. Which tells me she either no longer exists after that time, or I’m successful and close the rift between us. I will not suffer the former, and will weather whatever anger from her that my decision brings me.”

His reasoning seemed sound, and Triss couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t beyond intrigued at the prospect of studying the artifact in her hand. Dijkstra had helped her in her time of need, with very little asked in return. And he deserved some happiness in his life. If she could help him with that, she would.

She placed a reassuring hand over his and gave him a confident smile.

“Alright, I’ll do everything I can.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
